The Copa...Copacabana and a Restless Peace

Our original itinerary had us leaving Arequipa to spend a day in Puno (Peru’s supposed folklore capital) before crossing into Bolivia. Unmoved with our initial impression’s of the town, however, and accompanied by our newest addition, an Australian named April who had a yearning to see Bolivia, we decided to forego Puno and head immediately to Copacabana the following morning. Upon boarding the bus we noticed a host of young attractive backpackers (much like ourselves) from every part of the globe: Belgium, Spain, Honduras—every nation, in fact, except Peru or Bolivia. Suitably, as we would find upon our arrival, the Copacabana is a quaint town on the edge of Lake Titicaca composed mainly of guesthouses and low key restaurants catering to the Western vacationer. (No, this is not the Copacabana of Manilow fame and no we didn’t meet any girls named “Lola”.) The “touristy” sector of the town runs along a steep hill that leads from the main plaza to the shores of the lake and at 3,800 meters altitude, scaling the incline can be quite a feat. (I should insert here our breakthrough discovery of mate de coca, a tea made with the infamous coca plant, which acts as a natural stimulant and would facilitate our acclimation for the duration of the trip.) The main attraction of Copacabana (in addition to the “chill” bars and fresh seafood), is the Isla del Sol, actually located 90 minutes off-shore, which boasts of being the birthplace of the two founders of the Inca Empire, Manco Capac and Mama Ocllo. The island hosts some 5,000 permanent residents, mostly sheep farmers, and is purported to be an enjoyable hike but our limited time did not allow us a very thorough exploration. Although far from establishing any sort of lasting empire, it is on the shores of the Isla del Sol where we formed a friendship with Vanessa and Eva, two charming Germans who we would share mojitos and live reggae music with in the evening.

Our German friends were anything but Arian: Eva was half Peruvian, Vanessa half Greek, and Nastaran, who we would meet later, was full blooded Persian. After a night of entertainment, as alluded to before, we decided to accompany (notice I did not say “follow”) the girls to the capital of Bolivia, a slight detour from our already amended itinerary. La Paz, translated as “the peace”, was anything but pacific. Our first day was spent on a very busy street located near the city center, allowing us to visit the principal plaza which hosts the presidential palace and populist leader, Eva Morales, himself. The conglomeration of hundreds of working aged men throughout the city in the middle of a weekday suggested the dire reality of unemployment in what is considered to be South America’s poorest nation. Rob and I bypassed the opportunity to visit more markets, realizing that it would be more of the same hand-woven alpaca articles and holistic medicinal cures (try llama fetus), only bartered in bolivianos rather than nuevo soles. We would need our strength later anyway. At 8:00 we rendezvoused with the girls and went to dine at a restaurant called “Mongo’s” where the evening began tranquilly with a few burgers. Drinks were consumed in a civilized manner until someone at the table suggested that we indulge in tequila shots. Game over. Before we knew it, our table of seven had polished off a bottle of Jose Cuervo and even the Americans and Brits with two left feet (yours truly included) we on the dance floor staggering a salsa step. The surprise of the night, far more astonishing than my falling madly in love with our Deutch acquaintances, was the evening’s bill. After dinner for seven, twenty table sized beers and a bottle of tequila, our check was 780b! While that may seem steep to those unaware of exchange rate, the conversion comes out to less than US $90 total. Realizing we had an 8:00 bus to catch, we left the salsa celebration reluctantly, leaving our invaluable company behind.