6/8/15: Isla del Sol in Lake Titicaca

Well. I don’t even know how to describe today.

I guess, since today is day 21 on the road, that I got complacent. With the exception of that one day in Ica my first week, I’ve actually been getting along very well. Today, instead, was another roller coaster of a day – with highs and lows much more extreme than that taxi ride in Ica.

So, I was excited today. I was going to visit the Isla del Sol in the middle of Lake Titicaca and have a blast doing it (even at about 4000 meters above sea level)! The day started with a south Asian man walking the street leading up to the beach with a couple pastries, offering them for sale, and looking at me asking where I was from. “The United States,” I said. “Oh. But you look Chinese,” he responded.

Oh. Do I really? For real? Are you sure? Ugh. Yes, I know I look Chinese. That’s my heritage. It’s not like I’ve looked Chinese for my entire life or anything. You know. And then he introduced himself as Bangladeshi, not local. Well. I'm just not sure how that's relevant.

Everything in the morning went smoothly as I boarded the boat towards the island. It took a while to get there (about two hours) and I had a little bit of motion sickness, but the Lake was beautiful and there was a cute little five-year-old boy that kept talking the whole time.

We arrived at the north part of the island and started walking to the northern tip of the island, which had some ruins of a small scale. There was a Spanish-only guide that was leading us through, and I could catch a little bit of what he was saying. It was kind of nice of him to point things out, but he was not up front in saying that his guidance would cost us 10 Bolivianos each. In fact, I was a little upset that he didn’t tell us, added to the fact that I didn’t really understand him anyway. And then I realized 10 Bs was less than $1.50, and then was a little upset at myself that I was upset about spending that amount on someone who can have half a meal with that, and I can earn that much relatively easily. It was a complex feeling.

Anyways, we checked out the ruins, and there is apparently a rock that looks like a puma. It’s a little hard to see, but the front part that is indented in represents the mouth, and the part to the right is the rest of the head. The part to the left is the puma’s body – it’s abstract but if you pay close attention you can sort of see it.

There were also several mini, mini ruins that we walked through – they reminded me of a tiny model of what I saw at Ollantaytambo.

After that, the guide walked back to our starting point and I walked alone towards the south of the island. It took me about 2.5 hours (8 km or 5 miles) to walk, so I was pretty happy with my time, getting there around 3 pm.

I could catch the boat back to Copacabana at 3:30 right there, or could keep walking south to get the boat at 4. I felt adventurous and didn’t have much else to do, so I decided to keep walking to the southern tip of the island. The area was extremely unclear, but I thought I saw a foreign-looking guy walking in one direction, so I decided to follow.

At this point, I should have realized that I could no longer see him, and ask a local where to go. The streets were relatively empty, though, so I decided just to keep walking. I went about 15 minutes, and looked over the cliff to see a single tourist-looking boat. I didn’t see any other people, but I thought it was just because I was about 40 minutes early. I didn’t see any clear paths down to the boat, so I started along a trail but eventually decided to start walking through the terraces to get down faster. I remember thinking to myself something like, “Thank god I’m going down and not up because this would be impossible the other way.”

Well. Ironically, I got down to the bottom of the cliff to the Lake, and the pathway to the boat was blocked off by a wall with a barbed wire-covered door with a lock. I thought that was weird but luckily there was a young girl – maybe in middle or high school – that I asked for help. It turns out that I was in the wrong place completely. Instead of continuing to head south, like I should have, I went north. By this time it was around 3:45, and I panicked a little. She told me I just had to go back up the mountain and take the road that would lead me directly to the port I was looking for, Pilkokaina, and said that it would probably be fastest to walk instead of try something else.

At this point, I have been walking for about 3.5-4 hours, and I’m tired. Looking back up at the mountain, I don’t know if I can walk all the way up there and then around again, and I’m terrified because I have 15 minutes to make it to the port. I usually consider myself a rational person, but as I made my way back up the trail-less incline, I started to cry. The absurdity of my entire trip to South America was called into question in my mind – here I am, a 21-year-old student from the United States who barely speaks Spanish, girl, traveling alone, on an island that I’m unfamiliar with, about to miss a boat, with a little shoulder bag of stuff, running out of water, in the middle of these terraces where the closest hostels or even local houses are far away.

But I kept walking, because what the hell else would I do?

There was a little white building that said something about “Salud” and “Isla del Sol” about ¾ of the way up the mountain, so I knocked on the door. This nice lady opened it, and led me into the main room that had two other ladies. They had a map on the wall, but when I told them I needed to get to Pilkokaina by 4 pm, they had a pained look on their faces. They told me I would have to keep walking up the incline to the “main road” and walk left, and it would take me 30 minutes, more or less. I could walk, they said, but it was 3:55 and it was basically impossible for me to make it in time.

At this point, I was coming up with all kinds of contingency plans in my mind. Maybe I would go and there would still be a boat waiting – you never know with South American time. Or maybe I could get there by hiring a little rowboat of a local. If I’m really desperate maybe I could swim there. Is that an option? Perhaps I would consider literally sleeping out in the open for the night, on a terrace for free. At least then I could see the stars. I didn’t want to stay the night on the island because I wanted to go back to my hostel and take a shower and eat a nice meal and have access to all my stuff, and I just hate the idea of paying for something I wouldn’t use – like the hostel room for the night.

On my way continuing up the mountain, I actually just broke down, lying on the ground and cried for about 30 seconds – I didn’t want to waste any more time than that. I kept walking, making sure to verify my directions with locals that I saw along the way, and then crying when I couldn’t see them anymore. At the point where I could see the port, I also saw two large boats driving away. I felt a sinking feeling because I knew that those were probably the last touristic boats that were leaving. The 30-minute estimate was actually longer than that – it turned out to be closer to 45 minutes when I got to the port itself.

There was only one boat docked at the port with someone near it. He was cleaning it, and had been since I could see him from the top of the mountain. I was prepared to offer him money to take this boat to Copacabana for me. What gave me hope was that I saw four people and a guide walking down the same path I was walking along down towards Pilkokaina, but I still wasn’t sure.

Anyway, I got there and was prepared to see if I could get a ride back to Copacabana. I asked him, and he explained that it might be possible, but this boat was a private one for the tourists that I had seen on the path that went into a small structure before I passed them. He wasn’t sure. But, he said, he would be happy to ask them when they got down here. It was possible.

I cannot describe to you how it felt to hear him say that in the moment. Honestly, if he had said no, I’m pretty sure I could have figured it out. I would have just spent some extra money and stayed at a local hostel – I’m sure I could have gotten a room for 30 Bs or less. But the relief I felt in knowing that there was a real chance that I could make it back to Copacabana today was overwhelming, and I just sat down on the dock and cried. It was half embarrassing, half relief. I think the guy didn’t really know what to do, but he told me to calm down and that it would be okay. He asked if I was traveling alone – yes – if I had a bus ticket – yes, to La Paz, but tomorrow – what boat company I had booked with, whether I knew I should have been there at 4 pm – and he was actually very reassuring. I’m sure he didn’t think he would meet a young Asian girl crying on his deck because she didn’t want to ask how to get to a port. Ugh.

Anyways, I was allowed on the boat. One girl offered my tissues and another asked me if I was okay and offered me a coca candy. I honestly kept crying for a total of about 15 minutes, and then got a hold of myself. When we arrived at Copacabana, I was so relieved and felt like I just survived a night in the Maze Runner maze like Thomas and Minho that one night from the book. Ugh. Emotionally exhausted.

I walked into a little place that had a fixed menu like yesterday, except they served fried fish instead of chicken. Good enough, and it was a relief to access internet a little bit (even if it was exceedingly slow) and eat. Quinoa soup, and dessert was this little pancake with some ice cream that tasted a little like banana. Ironically, a bottle of water there cost my 8 Bs, while the meal itself was 20 Bs. I guess I know where they make their money. But whatever, I had run out of water and in total the meal was still just over $4.

The high of the night was walking out of the restaurant and bumping into a lady that I had met yesterday on the bus from Puno. Right before we got to the border of Peru and Bolivia, the bus stopped at a money exchange place to allow us to get Bolivianos if we needed them. What happened with her was that she was given a 20 soles bill from the Puno bus company, but the exchange place claimed that it was counterfeit when she tried to get Bolivianos for it. She was pretty angry because it wasn’t her fault, and the employee kept trying to defend his company when the exchange lady tried to get her money back. It became a little bit of a mess, and when we left the border area, I didn’t see her on the bus. I didn’t know what happened to her until she told me the story tonight.

Apparently, she had decided to go back to Puno to this bus station. She found the lady that had sold her the bus ticket and told her that the bill she was given as change was counterfeit. Drama ensued, and the lady started called my bus companion a liar and a cheat and crazy and everything, but apparently she remembered the details of their transactions, which was suspect. Anyway, my bus companion ended up staying the night in Puno and filing a police report in the morning, and then standing in front of the company’s desk at the bus station telling people not to buy from them because they are liars and cheats. It took about 3 hours to get the police report completely filed against this woman – during which the police tried to give my bus companion 20 soles to get this over with – but she was more interested in justice than the actual money itself. LOL

It was actually nice to get lost in another story after the nightmare this afternoon. As I’m writing down the day’s happenings tonight, I don’t really know how to feel. On the one hand, I’m a little proud that I didn’t give up on the boat, but I’m a little ashamed that the episode even had to happen. On the other, I’m laughing at the money story – 20 soles is less than $7. And it erupted into this big thing. I’m not sure how I feel right now, but I think I’m okay. As long as that’s the case, I really have nothing to complain about.