We haven't done this city much justice yet, beyond the nearby bustling streets with street vendors and chaotic traffic, and yet we are on our way out again. In a few hours we will fly to the small town of Rurrenabaque in the Amazon basin to see a very different part of Bolivia. We'll be spending three days and two nights exploring the rain forest and the Pampas.
While we are waiting for the taxi to take us to the airport in the lobby of our hostel I will attempt to finish reporting on the last of the Titicaca island experiences, the only one we visited on the Bolivian side.
Early on Saturday morning we boarded a
boat at the Copacabana harbour that was to take us to Isla del Sol,
the legendary birthplace of the Inca people. This was no guided tour
but transport used by visitors and islanders alike, and as soon as
all the seats were taken – inside and also on two metal benches up
on the roof – we headed out of the harbour. We had found seats in
the very front of the boat and shared space with two indigenous women
with voluminous bags. 'You never know what these bags might contain',
remarked a fellow passenger, and indeed – soon two little
black-haired heads emerged. The baby bundles were deposited on the
seats, and the mothers engaged in conversation. Older children played
on the floor, and I soon found myself holding the two chubby brown
hands of a little girl doing 'exercises' with her while she counted
from one to three.
The waves were higher than during our
boat ride on the Peruvian side. There, we didn't encounter the full
impact of the huge body of open water since we had for the most part
stayed within the protection of Puno Bay.
The captain mostly hugged the shoreline
with its big algae-covered rocks, but still the ride was pretty
rough. Once, he sped up and passed a boat of similar size, only to
approach the dock at Yumani, the southern port of Isla del Sol,
immediately after. He obviously wanted to be the first to get rid of
the passengers getting off at this point.
Most of us, however, stayed on board
for another half hour or so when we docked at Challapampa on the
north end. There was one more departure for Copacabana that
afternoon, and just going for half a day is definitely an option. We,
however, had decided to find a place to stay overnight on the island.
We hadn't made a reservation anywhere ahead of time, since now, in
low season, it is no problem to find accommodation. We wanted to hike
from the north to the south end of Isla del Sol, following the old
Inca road running along the spine of the island for about 8.5 km.
Like on the other islands we visited there is no motor vehicle
traffic on Isla del Sol.
The little community at this end of the
island was not very inviting and looked a bit run-down. Guides – as
far as we could tell all Spanish speaking – approached the
disembarking passengers, and we quickly left all of that behind.
We walked along the beautiful white
sand beach for a little while, admiring a few pigs picturesquely
dotting the shoreline, before the path became rocky and started to
climb steadily uphill through the terraced landscape. It felt like
hard work in the hot noon sun at this altitude.
After about half an hour we had reached
the first outlook, allowing us to survey the bay from which we had
just climbed up and, trying to follow the winding path down – and
up – hill with our eyes, we tried to figure out where we'd have to
go next. There was a display case with a broken glass window showing
points of interest along the road, but it was a bit vague, and we
didn't really feel like walking down somewhere if we didn't have to
because it meant climbing up again, too.
Yet, the rocky path seemed to lead down
towards the lake shore on the other side of this ridge, and we
decided to just follow it. Not long, and we passed the first of the
sites, the so-called 'Mesa del Inca', a stone altar and some smaller
blocks arranged around it. Today's offering were handicrafts which an
islander had spread out for the tourists, weighed down by rocks so that
they didn't blow away. We hiked down further and now found ourselves
facing one of the truly interesting Inca sites: the Chincana
labyrinth.
Meanwhile it is Wednesday morning, and we are in the steaming heat of Rurrenabaque. Soon we'll be on our way to the pampas.
Since I'm afraid I'm running out of
time, I'll quote from www.boliviatravelsite.com
here:
Also named the Palacio del Inca, or El Laberinto, or labyrinth, these ruins on the top of Isla del Sol form the complex of the Titicaca, or sacred rock.
The Chincana ruins were worshipped as the birthplace of the first Incas: Manco Kapac and Mama Okllo, son and daughter of Viracocha. . They believed that the sun was born here from behind a large rock to the east, shaped like a crouching puma called Titi Khar�ka (Rock of the Puma) hence the lake's name.
Chincana Labyrinth walls were once covered with mud plaster and had been painted in various colors. It contains trapezoidal doors and niches indicative of Inca architecture.
Many rooms within the Chincana are connected by twisting passageways, giving a maze-like feeling to this complex, that is therefore called Laberinto Chincana. Apparently it housed the women who cared for the shrine at Titikala.
From here, the road
– its course outlined by low walls on either side – climbed
steadily uphill. Strong wind buffetted us, making the hot sun more
bearable, but shade was hard to come by.We had started at about
3,800m above sea level at the lake, and at its highest point the Inca
road reaches 4,060m. It took a lot of up and down until we had
finally reached it. Time and again we turned a corner and had yet
another amazing view of the landscape below. The thought that this
road had been built and used by the Inca people is strange and
exciting.
It was
mid-afternoon when we started the downward slope. Now, eucalyptus
groves along the flanks of the hill softened the impression of the
dry, rocky landscape a little. Suddenly the faint sound of pipes and
drums drifted up from somewhere far below. It seemed to slowly come
closer, so we sat down on the low wall, snacked on our peanuts and
waited to see what this was all about. Soon the first red skirts were
visible among the trees: it looked as if a procession was winding up
the hill, indigenous women and men, walking in a set pattern, a man
waving a white flag at the front. A decorated brown alpaca was part
of this strange group as well. They crossed the Inca road and, pipes
and drums playing the same few bars of music over and over, slowly
disappeared around the corner and downhill until, again, we only
heard the faint sound of the instruments. While we were puzzled as to
what this might all mean we felt very fortunate to have been there
just at the right moment.
We passed another
'pay station' along the road where the Challa community collects a
small fee, money they use for their community. Already we could see
the little town of Yumani on top of a small rise and soon would have
to look for a place to sleep. A few hundred metres before we reached
the town a small, well-maintained group of little bungalows to our
left and what seemed like a restaurant to our right caught our eye:
somebody was trying very hard to beautify this sere landscape with a
flower garden. Roses, snapdragons, geraniums and dahlias were in
bloom. A middle-aged man approached us and asked if we were looking
for a room.
His English
speaking daughter showed us around, and we decided to end today's
journey here, away from the certainly more lively town with its
tourists who, like us, had hiked the Inca road. It felt right to end
this remarkable day in these peaceful surroundings.
It turned out that
we had chosen well: when it got dark we walked down to the beautiful
rustic restaurant where we already found the adobe fireplace in its
centre lit, had a tasty meal – the best trout I have eaten so far
in this area that is famous for its trout – and were even supplied
with hot water bottles for the chilly, stormy night.
When we woke up in
the morning, bird songs the only thing we heard, the sun was shining
again. We walked down to the port through the little town with its
peaceful Sunday-morning feel. Donkeys were crossing our path on the
way down to the well where they would be loaded with water containers
to take uphill to customers like our little hotel.
After the final
descent, using yet another remarkable piece of Inca architecture, a
long set of stairs lined by walled-in small gardens, we reached the
dock. The boat, loaded like the day before, took us 'home' to
Copacabana from where we would soon embark on yet another adventure.
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