From Copacabana to Cuzco

I remember being sat at home last February. A Facebook status flashed on-screen; Denny Brink, the American I travelled with for many weeks in India, was going travelling in South America. Something triggered inside me.

Several months later I found myself in Copacabana, halfway through my journey. Copacabana is a little tourist town on the edge of Lake Titicaca. It's rather uninspiring other than a pleasant viewpoint from a nearby hill, but the following day I took an early boat to Isla del Sol on the lake. Lake Titicaca is the highest navigable lake in the world at 3812 metres, and Isla del Sol is a beautiful and relaxed island on the Bolivian side. I spent the day enjoying the extremely pleasant stroll from north to south, finished off by some trout and chips.

I returned to Copacabana that night and booked a bus across the border. The Bolivian section of my journey was now over. Bolivia had treated me well; from the excitement of Death Road and the Potosi mines, down to the little things like the old style English bowler hats which the women wear, and the people dressed up as zebras in major cities helping children and adults cross the street. But it was now time for a new country.

It didn't take long the following morning to find myself with a new stamp in my tired passport. Just a couple of hours later, I checked into a hostel in Puno on the Peruvian side of Titicaca. I instantly set out to find some food, and the steak I ordered at La Estancia restaurant was infinitely better than anything I had tasted in Bolivia; a good sign for things to come I hope. In a mirror to Copacabana, there isn't anything special to do in Puno other than a trip to the lake, so I took a stroll.

After a small walk around Puno's minor sights, I sat down in front of a statue in a plaza. There was a protest nearby; men with flags on sticks chanting in Spanish, but this was nothing new in South America; I had seen many vocal protests marching through the streets in Bolivia. As I sat down, a smartly dressed local man began talking to some tourists directly to my right. "They are campaigning for the university dean they wish to elect" he said. "Be careful, it could get dangerous". For that split-moment I didn't believe him; I had never seen an issue at a South American protest; But right on queue, at that exact moment, noise flooded the air. To the sound of roars and clacks I looked to my left to see flag poles swinging at bodies. From around the corner the opposing campaign had approached, and a clash of wood ensued. It lasted for maybe thirty seconds before fizzling out.

With time on my hands, the other tourists and I stayed rooted to the statue steps. The only following attacks were vocal chants. Eventually shielded police arrived to form a wall between the sides, but no violence erupted for a second time. Locals casually drifted past the clans and the police wall to continue their day, totally unfazed by the chants, speeches and flagpoles. It felt completely safe again, though how the supposedly most educated section of Peru's youth could act like animals on the basis of an election, I do not know.

The following day I awoke early yet again to begin my two day trip to the Peruvian side of Lake Titicaca. Along with Jonathan from my hostel, I was taken on a boat with a large group of tourists to The Uros; a large group of man-made floating islands. Both the tourists from the plaza the previous day and my guide book had warned me about how the islands had been tainted by tourism, but it wasn't until I got there that I realised the extent of this. On the surface The Uros are fascinating; tiny floating islands made of reeds on the lake, but the islands are dominated by tourist restaurants and stalls, thus scouring the face of what would be an otherwise intriguing and original cultural habitat. This in itself is an interesting topic, one which me and Jonathan discussed at length, but I agree with my guidebook when it says "This form of tourism on the Uros islands is now well established, and whether it has done irreplaceable harm or will ultimately prove beneficial, it takes place in superb surroundings."

Eventually we moved on and were boated to Amantani island. There, me and Jonathan would stay the night with a local family. Our family were really nice; Lucresia, Richard and young Isabella. Other family members, such as the grandfather, occasionally popped over and said hi. As Quechan speakers, they spoke no English and very little Spanish, and combined with the little Spanish me and Jonathan spoke, communication wasn't always easy. However, they were incredibly friendly, and Lucresia made us some great food. I also enjoyed sharing musical skills with Isabella on her tiny loosely strung children's guitar.

In the afternoon, the entire group from our boat went on a short trek to the top of a nearby hill to see the island from on high. Afterwards, we returned to our homestays for some more homecooked food, before moving to the local school for some traditional dance. The music was provided by a small band, including our host Richard on a guitar-like instrument. Dancing was never going to be my cup of tea, but after a couple of indoor sessions of Amantani ring-a-ring-a-roses, plus one more outdoor jig around a fire, I was happy it didn't go on longer than it needed to.

The following morning me and Jonathan ate our final Amantani meal (well, in truth, I think pancakes is more a tourist meal than a local meal), we paid our hosts their money (plus a bag of pasta), said our thanks and goodbyes, and returned to the boat. All in all, it had been a very pleasant experience, and much more authentic than the previous day's floating islands visit. The boat then took us to visit and walk around Taquile island, and finally, we returned to Puno.

My following day was a much called for lazy day, and following that, a seven hour bus journey to Cuzco. After checking into my hostel I hastily walked over to a coffee shop in the main square for an important meeting. Five years after my incredible journey to India, I re-met Denny. Denny was travelling southwards through South America, and I was heading north. There was always going to be a meeting point. We spent that evening and the following day walking around Cuzco, eating food, playing our old card games, watching a free dance show (including a bit of Peruvian ring-a-ring-a-roses), and largely reminiscing about all the fun times we had had in India. For us both, it is still the pinnacle of independent travel.

If South America is to topple India's crown, it's chance may be coming. On Monday I embark on a four day trek, topped off with a day at one of The New Seven Wonders Of The World; Machu Picchu. I've decided to do my trek with Llama Path, the most popular company on Trip Advisor. To squeeze on to this tour I now have a one week wait until my trek begins, and so in Cuzco I will explore, wait, and take a break from my travels. Time to slow down ...