Pigs feeding along the beach. It was crazy wrapping my head around this concept, one of many casual occurrences on Isla del Sol. The uninterrupted blues of the sky and water competed with each other for attention. Choosing to disconnect from reality and stay multiple days on this speck of soil amidst the world’s highest navigable body of water was easily the best decision Marcela and I made during our travels as an amalgamated unit.

 

 

Getting There and Away

We took a bus from the main terminal in La Paz to Copacabana (existing prior to the beach in Rio de Janeiro, which was actually named after this port town), $4.40, 5 hours. This involved getting off the bus at the Tiquina Strait, buying an additional lancha ticket for less than a dollar, waiting for a boat to take us across the water (technically a skinny part of Lake Titicaca) to get back on said bus, watching said bus magically appear on what was more or less a canoe as it drifted away into the night, and dismissing it as a hallucination because we must have been too tired to see straight (look it up if you don’t believe me), and eventually hopping back on said bus.

Another lancha was needed to reach Challapampa in the north of the island. They depart daily from Copacabana at 9:30am and 1:30pm, around $4 each way, 2.5 hours.

For connecting to Peru, busses run daily from Copacabana to Puno until about 7pm. Our ticket was $7, 3 hours, but cheaper are available. From Puno, you can get to the rest of Peru including Cusco and Arequipa. When crossing the border please get both a Bolivian exit stamp and a Peruvian entry stamp to avoid massive headaches… more on this in my next post.

On a side note, had I had more days, I would’ve spent time exploring Tiquina and nearby towns—more locals, less tourists.

On a side note of my side note, please do not sample the small fried fish sold in Tiquina unless you enjoy bodily experiences that keep you glued to the toilet seat.

 

 

Food and Accommodation

In Copacabana, Khota Kawana was the most basic option for $2.90 a person. We didn’t even bother to try to shower, and instead brushed our teeth next to the giant stray dog that couldn’t stay out of the warmth of the bathroom (see Day 83), before going promptly to sleep.

On the island itself, plenty of cheap options scattered the area of Challapampa. From camping on the beach to hotels on the main street to signs pointing to spiritual communities, M and I went with a $2.90 per person private double overlooking the lake in the appropriately named Mirador del Sol. When arriving by boat, turn right and follow the main road until you can’t go any further. As always, showers were debatably warm and wifi was a mythical ideology.

Food options are naturally limited on islands. We nourished ourselves with mandarins, bananas, fluffy oregano empanadas. Eye-catching sandwiches on the main street were $1.45 and the perfect trekking food; I recommend pollo con palta. If we chose to dine at a restaurant, we shared local seafood entrées, $3.60 because we’re cheap like that.

 

 

See and Do

Compared to the resorts in the south, the north was the ultimate place to chill out. For that reason we purchased lancha tickets straight to Challapampa. The island is divided into three segments, and a tourist ticket must be bought for each part upon arrival to each arbitrary border. In other words, don’t worry about doing anything in advance. Together the island took $4.34 out of our pockets, which I’m sure went to support the local economy.

Most backpackers quickly start the hike at ruins of the pre-Incan Aymará and hike the length of the island with daypacks, catching the last lancha back to the mainland, which departs from Yumani in the south. The majority of the trail followed the Ruta Sagrada and took three hours. We did this too, only with all our gear. We dined on fresh trout, dodged angry cholas and their scuttling herds of sheep, and took memorable swims and boat rides.

 

 

Day 83

We snacked our way to Copacabana, adding ice cream and humita to the list. A beautiful sunset and nap later, we awoke to our bus being road-blocked by stout Andean women partying. I guess we re-routed before we were dumped somewhere and hurried onto a lancha, but not before M got the sketchiest fried mini fishes. We swear we saw our bus get floated across the water on a similarly sized boat. Bolivia continued to make no sense.

Aside from its monstrous catedral, the whole Copacabana was very touristy and lacked noteworthy aspects. We walked to the lodging marked on this business card that had been handed to us in La Paz.

Khota Kawana was cheap as hell, but involved bearing the pungent smell of urine that seemed to have a permanent place in the bathroom. I walked in and thought I saw a squat toilet, reminding me of China, before I make out that it’s actually a dog, sound asleep, right by the toilet bowl.

Back in the courtyard I asked, “¿El Perro es simpatico?” Momma Chola promptly chased him out. He had already returned to his slumber in the same spot by the time Marcela went in. I had warned her about the “bear of a dog.” She was cracking up.

 

 

Day 84

The pescaditas gave from the previous night began giving M a hard time.

Being the true friend I was, I didn’t hesitate to leave her. Temporarily, of course. The lancha removed me from civilization, squeezing past miniature islands one moment and cutting through vast blue the next.

Garlic trucha with quinoa soup was lunch. To my surprise, Titicacan trout is red and fatty, indistinguishable from our salmon.

I hiked through the relics of the Aymará, taking longer than expected because every few steps took me to scenery so beautiful I was repeatedly in a state of shock. I crossed a beach, ascended above town, and located the sacrificial table, sacred rock, and residential ruins. A fur ball of a puppy was biting my GoPro. These distractions made me actually late to reuniting with M, who was sitting faithfully at the dock without a clue on what to do.

She loved the spot I suggested for meditation. We got the same dish for dinner. When M’s bowels were calling, we rushed out of the restaurant, ditching a German girl who was eating with us, but then ran through the cold to purchase empanadas before obtaining toilet, because priorities.

 

 

Day 85

Back at that main beach, Marcela saw the water and announced that we should get someone to take us out on a boat. And if travel had taught us anything, it’s understanding that if you want something to happen, make it happen. She stopped and asked the next local we saw, who got his friend Alejandro to row us for one hour, $4.34.

Life was instantly put on a new level of chill. Something about that setting—perhaps the incline of the back seats—was a form of true perfection.

I love Marcela because she loves getting people to talk about people. Alejandro told us the meaning of life was to work. Then you can raise a family. All his kids were now in São Paolo. He only felt happiness for an hour or two at a time, and happiness was found when he gave a hug. His favorite food was quinoa soup.

But I believed Alejandro was happier than us and he doesn’t even know it. The beauty of the third world is that people don’t have time for depression and irrationality.

We continued our hike, passing all the tourists and until we arrived the end of the island. We sat in silence.

At the desolate dock below the ruins, we submerged ourselves in Titicaca. A Spanish couple later joined. The water was cold but not so much so that our bodies couldn’t adjust. We jumped out with just enough time to dry before the sun was gone, and hauled ass back to town as we lost proper control of our extremities. All we could think about was empanadas, and the cows playing in the sandy water at purple sunset.

All these stimuli had us comatose-d by 7pm.

 

 

Day 86

A hen discreetly passed by our door.

We took breaks during the southbound trek to observe clouds of sheep and get yelled at by cholas for urinating near the trail.

Just after the crossing into the last third of the island, we began seeing luxury lodging and restaurants where the ends of the tables blended into the backdrop blue water, flanked by rocking chairs. Shoutout to Marcela for making us stop.

 

 

When we saw the thick slabs of trout the couple next to us ordered, we requested the same thing. The meal, combined with the scenery and the tablecloth of rich colors typical of Andean culture, calmed my brain into a mild high.

The boat schedule was remarkably Bolivian in that the whole morning every local promised there would be one leaving at 1pm. Arriving on time, the next was at 3:30, yet the teenagers selling us tickets who told us this also kept pointing at the schedule painted on the wall, which said 10:30am and 4pm.

We hiked by the Fountain of Youth atop of the stone steps of Yumani, before taking a left to another group of ruins. There we sat and ate an orange; one of many of our discussions on Asian parenting and spirituality was had. Don’t lean back into the indistinguishable mush of ancient cobwebs and dust.

It was a relief to leave the stuffy boat at Copacabana. Staff from Hostal Joshua were selling vegan energy balls, black bean brownies, hummus and lentil sandwiches… It flew into my digestive tract. We gave up dining on a hot vegan meal for the sake of ensuring we wouldn’t miss the last busses for Puno.