Last stops: Peru and Bolivia
A year ago, Bermudian Robyn Skinner set off to travel around the world, well she made it and here is her last report. The backpack gets packed away .... at least for the time being.
Next Stop: Puno a town on Lake Titicaca.
Before heading to Puno, it had been a rough few days for me and my two Bostonian travel buddies a roller coaster bike ride and then a trek up Huaynu Picchu (the mountain that towers over Machu Picchu). Unfortunately letting ourselves loose on Cusco to enjoy our accomplishments meant we did not enjoy waking up for our bus.
But I had to. The only other stop in Peru that I had to make, was a lake that caused giggles in Mrs. Chandler's geography class (whose kidding I still giggle over it) Lake Titicaca. The highest navigable lake in the world provides a watery border between Peru and Bolivia while the town of Puno offers a convenient resting place to visit the Peru side. Luckily Puno was only a six hour bus ride from Cusco.
Or so we thought. After rousing and throwing our dishevelled selves into a taxi we found our bus. We should have waited. Something had cracked the front window, there was no air-conditioning and our backpacks had to find their ways under seats or overhead (not easy for my massive turtle shell). I knew this was not going to be fun, but the three of us were too 'tired' to fight the ticket men.
While the bus was interesting the ride proved more so. When our transport took too long to continue after dropping someone off (in the middle of nowhere usually), it sounded like we were under the House of Assembly (thumping our feet apparently was the only way to make this bus go). Our on-board food? A mother and son duo who rode with us for about two hours hacking away at meat hidden amongst bundled sheets. Her son wandered the bus looking for takers. We politely declined.
After five hours of this pain, we were awoken by some man yelling from downstairs. Apparently we were supposed to get off the bus (in the middle a town that looked like it was on fire) to move to a second bus. Easier said than done when you have to wake up, grab a 20 kilo backpack and navigate other customers strewn among the barely sized seats.
Needless to say when we finally arrived in Puno I just wanted a bed. Luckily after one failed attempt at a bus-station-hotel-promotion (these are always hit or miss) we found a hostel that had been recommended by a friend in Cusco. After scarfing down some Chinese food (isn't that always the fastest and easiest food?) I crashed.
The next day we scaled a nearby hill with Inca statue on top to get the first glimpse. When not glancing at Puno, Titicaca was beautiful. Unfortunately Puno is Cusco's ugly stepsister. Clearly poorer, the roofs are covered by whatever the inhabitants can find and this includes the church which has a higgledy piggledy tin roof. Unfortunately it was a cloudy day and before we could get home the torrential rain nearly drowned us.
The rest of the day was spent sorting out a visit on the lake and its floating islands! Yes. I wrote it floating. The Uros tribe, which hail from these reed-layered living spaces, offer tourists explanations on how they construct their islands (almost five-feet of reed upon reed layers keeps their houses afloat). Our guide explained that about six families can live together on one of these man-made islands so if a fight develops a saw between the warring factions fixes that and creates another island.
As the tops of these islands rot they must be replaced with more reeds making the maintenance of these homes far more taxing than painting roofs every five years, no?
Back on our lake boat it was two hours to our next and final destination on Lake Titicaca Taquile Island. This island holds about 1,700 people, is about 45 km away from Puno and is about 5.72 square kilometres. And we think Bermuda is small?
The residents here or Taquilenos live according to the Inca moral code of: do not steal, do not lie, do not be lazy. Sounds good doesn't it? Not only are islanders forbidden from being bad, but they also have a unique way of attracting and delineating who is single and who is married (as if us singles need further proof?) Single men will wear nightcap-looking hats that are mostly white and women who have a shawl/baby carrier/stick collecting attire with have larger pompoms if they are married. Getting married is also unique manner where men and women can decide to live together for nine months. If it doesn't work out they walk away (well unless someone's pregnant).
Trying to not to be lazy, not stealing and being as honest as we could, we trekked up the hilly island for our lunch of quinoa soup (a grain that is particularly popular in South America and great for celiacs), grilled trout and coffee before heading down the other side of this sheep-scampering rocks and moon-gate contestant archways and to our boat.
It was time for the mission back to Puno. It was Anthony's (one of the Bostonian pair) last day so, of course, we had to find a place to celebrate. With barely a sign as to the contents of the concrete building we sent Daniel (who spoke Spanish) to investigate this supposed-club. His conclusion? It looked great. Me and the other girl we had picked-up along the way were the oddities of the night with our blonde hair and white skin.
The alarm the next morning was far too early. Daniel and I had to say good-bye to Anthony, who returned to Boston, and catch our bus to Bolivia!
Copa...copacabana. Yes this little Bolivian border town is the original and I was much the entertainment for my travel buddy singing our way there. Too bad the song is as inviting as the town. We only had a few days left on our trips (well me even less than Daniel) so we skipped Copacabana (all that singing for nothing) and headed for the highest capital in the world La Paz.
Another four hours on the bus, a ferry ride, and we found ourselves looking down on brown-tiled buildings of Bolivia's capital. Descending into the city (which is a draw for the sadistic and want to ride the most dangerous road in the world) the clutter, hills and traditional outfits quickly came into focus.
After finding a hotel (anywhere was good at the point. I felt incredibly ill and tired after the day filled with buses, fumed ferries) we found some dinner and crashed. The next morning we moved out and found a better hostel which brewed it's own beer. Always a good omen.
Then it was off to wander through this city, which offers a variety of restaurants, markets filled with llama foetus and cobblestoned streets. I loved it.
That night we found a local joint that served cheap beer and whiskey with young Bolivians struggling to stand. The next day we decided it was time to see what happens with the traditionally dressed women enter the wrestling ring. Yes Cholita wrestling. The ring was located up in the hills of La Paz so we organised the trip through the hostel and ended up on the bus with a couple we had met in Machu Picchu. Small world.
WWF (and I don't mean the wildlife fund) has got nothing on this ramshackle boxing ring inside an empty warehouse. More interesting is the scene that unfolds pantomime takes on high school wrestling. Busty women with braids down to their derrières, big skirts and multiple layered shirts swarm on men in pyjamas (or, well some concoction of costumes ranging from skeletons, bad-ass bikers, etc...) The audience are not there to just watch. Popcorn is thrown, explicatives yelled and children cheering at wrestlers who eat it up (and I don't mean the popcorn).
Picking the corn out of my hair the four of us were back on the bus to descend into La Paz and spend the last night of my trip....where? At an Indian restaurant before finding a dance floor.
The next day I boarded the last segment of my round-the-world ticket from La Paz to Lima to Miami and then....to mom and dad.
My clothes have more holes than necessary, I have flown more than 50,000 miles, ridden more miles than I can count and I'm tired. How many buses have I survived? Who knows. How many ferries? Too many to count. How many hostel rooms have I managed to escape unscathed from? Who knows. Anything stolen? Only my credit card in London.
It's time. It's time to put the backpack down, unpack the clothes, and try to reconnect to a more sedentary life and the questions.
Was I ever lonely? I never had a problem finding people to travel with and I will always be in debt to the big hearts, good people and supportive energies I found along the way. Did I have fun? I don't know how to answer that question. It's too complicated.
I will end with this: I graduated from college, I have a masters, I have sailed across the Atlantic, I have lived in multiple countries and I have found a career that I love.
Never in my life have I felt as successful and as strong as when I completed this trip around the world on my own.