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Cleanest in S.A.

Day: 410

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So, last night after we got into Cusco after the horrendiously long bus ride we decided the city felt like everyone was just trying to get your money, although it definately is the cleanest and well kept city I have been to in South America . It is after all, the most popular tourist location on this continent, with Macchu Piccu right at its doorstep.

We slept the night away and when we awoke, we found Ed had arrived a little before and was sleeping in another room upstairs where we were changing to tonight. We headed up, knocked and found him answering the door looking like shit, essentially what redeye flights do to you. We all ate breakfast together and while he went back to sleep for a while, Felicia and I hunted down some internet time and an ATM.

After a few hours we headed back to the room to find him refreshed and ready to go exploring (for food), and spent a large portion of the afternoon in a cafe drinking tea and catching up. Eventually we managed to get out acts together and wander about town for a while during the sunset.

The night was capped by another number of hours sitting in a little cafe, drinking beers and being fabulous carnivores eating the local delicacy of Cuy (aka Guinea Pig), which pretty much tasted like you imagine rat would.

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Back to Peru

Day: 409

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Just for anyone who was interested in knowing; when buying a ¨Direct¨bus ticket in Copacabana, Bolivia to Cusco, Peru, Direct actually means share a minivan with 7 others to the border, walk across both exit and entry points with all your bags, share another minivan for 30 minutes to the side of a freeway where you proceed to sit there for 45 more minutes amidst hundreds of cows and sheep on the way to market until a bus (which is not the one in the picture which you were promised countless times) pulls over and lets you have the last two seats in the back, next to the stinky toilet for a ride that ends up taking three hours longer than you were told.

Silly me thought ¨direct¨actually meant you would get on a bus and go directly there.

A Titty Sunset

Day: 408

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Still in Copacabana enjoying the sun and the water…

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Isla del Sol

Day: 407

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We headed off for a day trip to Isla del Sol today, where supposedly the sun was born. It didn´t seem that way excessively, but it was warm and we manage to hike the islands tall peaks, and sit in the sun with a chilly breeze before we our six hours were up. We piled back into the ferry back to Copacabana with dozens of other travellers and proceeded to take the worlds slowest moving boat back to our hostal. 17 kilometers (10 miles) in an hour and a half.

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Haircut, Church, Kayak

Day: 406
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After my morning drug routine to try to keep myself alive, Felicia and I were headed down into town to see what we could find for the day since we were feeling better now. First things first, I hit up the local pelequeria for a $1 haircut where the woman went as far as straight edge razoring my sideburns and the back of my neck. It was easily one of the more intense haircuts of my life and I went above and beyond and tipped %50 (so $1.50 total).

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Anyways we made our way to the giant Cathedral here to check out all the car blessing (which is done twice a day at 10am and 4pm!) and the building itself. After a bit of wandering this little town we made it back to the waterfront for an impromptu kayak rental ($1) and a paddle around the bay. Unfortunately the wind was kicking up and the choppy seas made Felicia a little less comfortable and we headed in after 20 minutes or so.

The rest of the day was spent in classic Rob style of eating and sleeping, and let me tell you it was wonderful!

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Lago Tities!

Day: 405

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We spent the relaxed day wandering the crowded streets of Copacabana, as all the locals packed up their festival outfits and packed up to travel back to their homes surrounding area.

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Fiesta!

Day: 404

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Our journey to Lake Titicaca threw us right into the middle of the Fiesta de La Cruz (Festival of the Cross). We don´t know what it is celebrating exactly, some sort of religious right that calls for 3 days of 24hr music, dancing in the streets, crazy costumes and plenty of beer everywhere. 

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You get the feeling of a good time with not-so-sober bands wandering every street, and all the partying.  Then you see a painful looking Jesus on the cross in the middle of all this and remain confused.

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Unfortunately I still am not in great shape, and wasn´t really up for to much of a fiesta, but I did manage to get out and get a few pictures of the goings on.

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Tightass

Day: 403

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One of the places Felicia wanted to stay more than anywhere else on this trip was La Cupala Hostal, right on the shores of Lake Titicaca.  From everything we’ve read, and anyone we’ve talked to, it is a gem in the pile of shit that is this regions of the worlds hostal scene. Many people we have spoken to were disappointed because the place only has 17 rooms and is always full.  Somehow we had managed to get a reservation, and also manage to keep it through two days of delays.  If we didn’t make it there today, we would lose it and get stuck at one of the towns lackluster accommodation  choices.

I woke up still a little queasy, but put my best face for Felicia and informed her I would be able to travel to get there today (which might have been a little lie).  She left to settle our refunds with the cancelled plane tickets from a couple of days ago and I proceeded to slowly pack my bags. I was still blowing ass, but I had given up drinking and eating anything hours ago in preparation for this trip.

When she got back we got all our stuff together, I went to the bathroom once more, and we headed out to Copacabana on Lake Titicaca.  The bus ride left me clenching over every bump (fortunately the road was paved). I knew, since we were in the back of the bus (for some reason we always are) I would never make it off through the crowded aisle if there was an emergency.  I clenched, and breathed in the fresh air from my window, thinking un-nasty things.  Felicia placed her hand on my leg, very loving and girlfriend like, and I had to tell her to take it away because and extra pressure was disrupting my concentration.

Very focused and concentrated. It went on for hours and when we finally made it to our hostal (which seems as nice as we’ve been told), I bolted to the bathroom then climbed under the heavy comforter and spent the rest of the day snuggled up nicely trying to recover the rest of the way.

Pummeled

Day: 402

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My sides felt like I spent last night in a boxing match, I was sure my kidneys were bleeding, my stomach was a cement mixer, and my mouth was dry and crusted with spittle, as I cracked my eyes after managing 2 hours of sleep. I glanced at my digital watch; 4:30am.  We were figuring on at least a few more hours on this bus into La Paz.  I opened my window, hung my head out, stuck my finger down my throat, and vomited out whatever was in my stomach just to make myself feel better.

The road had smoothed out slightly and now our driver was speeding excessively trying to make up for lost time for leaving late yesterday afternoon, I figure bus companies aren’t to gracious when it come to excuses such as drivers losing keys. 

I tried to close eyes and not think about how deranged my body felt.  It was unignorable though. I just sat in the undersized bus seat in sheer agony, imagining that this must be what Hell feels like.

Finally, as the sun came up La Paz started to come into view, and although we had reservations in Copacabana for tonight (another 4 hours away), Felicia decided we would be staying here for the time being, which I was excessively thankful for. I think she might have been a little worried for me. We jumped off the bus at the first stop, instead of waiting for the bus station which is closer to the hostals, paid a taxi $1, and sped away to the same place Felicia spent penned up and sick for a week in earlier this month.  They had a room, wonderfully, and I showered and spent the next 5 hours asleep.  When I awoke I realized I wasn’t in the mood to throw up, but there was an uncomfortable amount of pressure Downunder, if you know what I mean…

The Incan Gods then proceeded to have some revenge for the ravaging of this continent my European ancestors doled out.  Unfortunately in all landed on my gut, and although I don’t think I have ever felt this cleaned out I wouldn’t rate the experience as a beneficial one.

The Absolute Worst

Day: 401

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At 11pm last night it started raining, and it wasn’t a little shower, we’re talking about a deluge and it didn’t let up even when we woke at 6pm to go check on our plane which was supposed to leave in an hour and a half back to La Paz. The unfortunate part of having a grass runway (as Rurre does) is that when it rains flights get cancelled, namely our flight (and 3 from yesterday).

We were informed that we would be lucky to be on a plane in 3 days but it could take as long as a week until we would be able to fly.  This caused us two major problems, one: Rurre doesn’t have an ATM and we are just about out of cash, two: We really weren’t interested in spending another week here.

We found two other couples in the same position and we tried to get a private 4WD to drive us back to La Paz for the obscene amount (in Bolivia) of $400US for a 12 hour drive.  We found someone willing to drive, but the Slovenian couple backed out at the last second which left it quite out of our price range.  (FYI: the plane tickets were only $75US each). We found our way to a travel agent who booked us two tickets for $11 each on what we have constantly heard is one of the worst bus rides in the world.  16 Hours of bumpy, muddy dirt roads with shear cliffs on one side, and the highest (per kilometer) death rate out of any strech of road in the world.

We showed up at the bus station a little before the 11:30am departure, when we found it would be postponed an hour because one of the drivers lost the key.  12:30, there was still no sign of us leaving, but I started to feel a little… shall we say icky. Finally at 1:45 we all piled in, Felicia and I in the second to last row, and as soon as the bus started moving stale water from the last days rain came through every crack and soaked many passengers with black sludge, thankfully not us, but it did leave the buses floors soaking wet and I had to keep my daypack in a trashbag to keep my camera from getting soaked.  Within minutes we realized why people hated this bus ride so.  We were being thrown around like a hacky sack of some young hippy kids feet.

It took about 30 minutes before I realized something wasn’t right in the land of Rob.

“Um… Felicia, you mind if we switch seats so I can be by the window?”

Then it was on, vomit spilled from my mouth and three hour old empanadas covered the side of the big blue bus.  I proceeded to vomit for the next few hours until there was nothing left, after which, I still vomited more, just in the form of dry heaves into the jungle night.  I rode through the horrible Bolivian rainforest roads with my upper body heaving sprite and assorted day old foods out the window into thousand foot chasms.

robertpaetz

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