18-19.08.24

Cusco to Puno

The journey from Peru to Bolivia has felt, in some ways, something of a whistle stop tour. We left our freezing rib cage in Cusco at about 6am to go and get our 7 hour bus to Puno. Although an uncivilised hour, the bus we were on was fairly plush and there was a proper bag checking system. Alex and I felt mighty smug watching other travellers with suitcases. There was one couple in front of us and the combined weight of their suitcases was 32kg. That’s insane! Basically 4x Alex’s bag.

Alex had booked good seats again (top front left) and the 7 hours actually went very quickly. I mean, I had some solid naps during that time but otherwise was very content to watch the world go by. The scenery was amazing and I found all the little rural towns we passed through fascinating… although I found the amount of litter just dumped on the sides of the road and in piles next to livestock rather depressing. Recycling has yet to hit South America in a big way it seems, especially in rural areas. That aside, some stunning views to gaze at.

We arrived in Puno on the edge of Lake Titicaca (stop it) at around 3pm and immediately booked our ticket to Copacabana in Bolivia for 6:45am the next morning. The drive into the town was interesting in a sense… it seems that the majority of homes are built in the same slap-dash way using cheap air bricks and lots of cement. Barely any looked finished and I wonder what the deal is here. Do you just build your own? Add another floor because your abuelo is coming to live with you now? All a bit odd. Similar numbers of stray dogs too which is all very sad.

Ticket booked (but not paid for as we didn’t have enough cash) we headed straight for our hotel. Alas, no Uber here, so we used the other app where you can quote an amount and they can accept it or not. Once ensconced in our hotel room (after another inexplicable form filling process) I hit the shower, having not washed my hair since before Machu Picchu due to a severe lack of hot water. Enough for a tepid body rinse but no where near enough time for a full hair wash.

What pleasure, what a sheer joy it was to have a hot, powerful shower. I washed and scrubbed and exfoliated and scrubbed again until I was all shiny and new, then slathered myself in moisturiser. Seriously dry at this altitude. Alex followed suit.

We had a relatively early dinner due to yet another early start for our bus across the border the following day. Apart from Alex’s chips arriving cold (they replaced them so all was well) we both had pleasant burgers.

Thence to bed, but not before getting started on some Japan planning for October… watch this space!

Puno to Copacabana

Slept terribly due to a splitting headache, bunged sinuses and a lack of paracetamol, so the 5:45am alarm was extra unpleasant. We went to the bus station where the woman who we hadn’t yet paid found us immediately (can’t think how) so we could pay her. Cheeky bint said it was 70soles but our tickets clearly said 30soles each. It was too late by the time we noticed this however. AND there was a random bus station tax that she had not mentioned the day before that was meant to be 2soles each but we literally had only 3 left. This was apparently fine. Maybe she took pity and put in 1 from the 10 she had claimed as an unofficial admin fee.

The seats on this bus were v v cushty although alas they weren’t in as good a location as previously and the bus itself stank. I was also unimpressed when the Aussie in front of me fully reclined her chair; thankfully the bus wasn’t full so I just moved one back but still. She asked us where we were from at one point and I could tell Alex was in no mood because he gave a curt “Norway” and continued checking admin stuff on his phone. I said that we lived in London and that we had been from Colombia to Peru and now into Bolivia. She told me she had been on a 15 day shamanic tour, whatever the hell that is. I didn’t get a chance to ask further as she settled back down and put on her headphones. Shamanic chants no doubt. When we got to the border crossing and had to switch buses I noticed she had one enormous and one travel on wheelie suitcase to herself as well as a sizeable rucksack. Didn’t seem very shamanic to me.

The border crossing was odd, and I feel like one could easily just have walked through if they had the balls. We all got off the bus and got our bags, went to the Peru office to get our passports stamped out, then walked about 200m to the Bolivia side to get stamped in there. Then onto a different bus for the final half hour into Copacabana. Our feelings of smugness for having the smallest travel rucksacks of anyone there increased immensely.

Copacabana, Bolivia

Seriously this place really deserves a post all of its own for how utterly bizarre it is. So that’s what I’m going to do. Prepare yourselves.