Left Cusco feeling lousy. Not sure if it was something I ate, a reaction to Lesley’s furry cats or a bit of altitude sickness - probably a combination of all three. The early morning departure to Puno, to get my visa for Bolivia, didn’t help.Our super efficient tour guide and host Dante, who had a fluffy moustache and double thick glasses, accompanied us for our nine hour scenic trip, which stopped at various tourist sites along the way.
Our final stop, before arriving in Puno, was at a miserable looking, one-horse town, called Pahara. Industry is virtually extinct and senile, old women and children lurk in the tourist areas, hoping to earn a few soles from visitors who take pity of them.
One particular child, aged about 12, comes to mind. His hands have been reduced to stumps and are covered in leprosy sores, however, he refuses to use the treatment offered by the clinic, as he gains more pity, which equates into money, from his current state. A disturbing sight and a clear indication of the degree of poverty in Peru and other South American countries.
Fifty percent of Peruvians live below the poverty line and a vast majority of them rely on subsistence farming and tourism as a means of survival, many of them, especially elderly women and children have reverted to begging.
We arrived in Puno, a gloomy and polluted city, in the late afternoon. Our hostel, which we had found and booked, through Lonely Planet, had a distinct Hillbrow Hotel feel about it, minus the needles and other drug paraphernalia - not that I know what a Hillbrow Hotel looks like but judging from what I have seen on Special Assignment.
Proving my theory on the Hillbrow Hotel feel about the hostel, Nikki, who dined out on her own, due to my sorry state of affairs, was approached by a local who thought it appropriate to have a quick fondle, as reached the entrance of the hostal. I’m not sure who was more shocked, Nikki or the fondler, who she gave a good beating and left cowering in the corner.
Battling with waves of nausea and an achy body, we spent the following morning organising my visa. A relatively uncomplicated procedure, which was decidedly un-official looking – a $30 visa fee and a few stamps in my passport, no forms to fill in or sign and instant approval.
Puno is situated about 3 800 metres above sea level and by day two we had both begun to feel a bit worn out from the altitude. We managed a visit to the pier in the afternoon, where we hired a pelican peddle boat and for two soles more a peddler and half-heartedly peddled our way through a very green and smelly lagoon before returning to our hostel. After dining on popcorn and coca-cola (one has to be specific in this nick of the woods), we called it a night at about 4.30pm.
Feeling perkier the next day, we booked an early morning trip to the Floating Islands on Lake Titicaca, an unfortunate name for something so impressive – 8 560 km² and reaching a minimum temperature of 9 degrees, the lake is an incredible sight. The islands, which are made from reeds and found dotted across the lake, are inhabited by isolated communities.
We arrived back to Puno with time to fit in a quick lunch before departing for Copacabana in Bolivia. Found myself missing the sweet and nerdy Dante, when Claudio, who I am convinced, belongs to the Bolivian mafia, announced himself as our escort.
Claudio had a distinct not to be messed with air about him and Nikki and I were careful not to put a foot out of place, unlike an American couple who broke the bus’s skylight when trying to let some air into the bus. Claudio’s fury was a sight to behold and short of ending up in a Bolivian jail and being reported to border authorities, the couple were obliged to pay $100 cash for the damages incurred.
Copacabana is an entirely more pleasant little town than Puno. We found a lovely little spot, with views on to Lake Titicaca and our own bathroom, for a grand total of R35 per person per night.
After a breakfast of stale bread and jam, which was included in the per night fee, we spent the morning exploring the town and pier, which had distinctly festive and holiday feel about it, despite an ever present and chilly breeze in the air.
The trip to La Paz, which left about lunch time, was a unique experience. An hour into the journey, we were instructed to disembark, as we needed to catch a “ferry” acr
oss Lake Titicaca. Built from old planks and barely bolted together, a very dubious construction, labelled a ferry, transported our bus from one end of the lake to the other, while we were taken across in rickety speed boats spurting mounds of gas and fuel into the environment.Undeterred by the looks of horror on our faces, we were instructed back on to the bus and putted off to arrive later that afternoon in the bustling city of La Paz.
