20.08.24
Our ferry to Isla del Sol was to leave a 9am and we had to be at the place we bought the tickets from at 8:30am to leave our bags and get information. Despite the walk from the office to the ferry being less than 5 minutes, I immediately got time-blindness and thus insisted we went straight to the boat. Ergo, we didn’t have breakfast, only some mixed fruit and nuts. This was a bad start, not that we knew it yet.
As we had been discussing the excursion to Isla del Sol the previous day with the kindly woman selling us the tickets, she showed us the hike route on a map, told us how beautiful it was, and that it was very much doable in time to make the 4pm ferry back, and thus get a 6-6:30pm bus to La Paz. At no point did she allude to the difficulty level of this hike. As we were to find out: difficult. Very, very difficult.
It started off okay, with some pretty challenging elevation to the north of the island to some pretty view points. Isla del Sol was reportedly very important to the Inca people as it was deemed the birthplace of the Sun god and moon goddess on the neighbouring smaller island of Isla del Luna. Isla del Sol was bigger than I had expected, and was actually inhabited. Clearly I had done 0 research, which absolutely came of bite us later in the hike.
The initial part took about an hour, hour and a half, to the north point of the island as I said. Then we had to make our way on one of two hike paths south to Puerto del sur. One took us back the way we came and beyond our original drop off point, the other along the spine of the island. Either way, it was a three hour hike. Along rocky, ankle-twisty paths. With some serious, serious elevation.
Remember also that Lake Titicaca, on which sits Isla del Sol, is the highest navigable lake in the world, sitting at about 3700m above sea level. The air is already pretty thin. The highest points of the hike, which were seemingly never ending, went up to 4000m easily. This hike would have been hard in the Lake District… but at this altitude it was something else. There was a point at which we realised our blunder, but to go back would take longer than to carry on, so carry on we did. Slowly. Generally speaking, Alex has had a worse time with the altitude than I have, and this hike almost broke the poor man. Mind you, it also almost broke me! I was still able to appreciate the spectacular views, however.
Walking at a roughly similar pace to us but stopping more often for photos and using a drone, were two blokes who seemed far more prepared than us for the hike. Big hats, walking poles, more snacks and drinks. So occasionally they passed us and occasionally we passed them.
At one point we were having a sit down at the base of yet another enormous climb, and must have looked pretty broken and dejected because they stopped to check if we were okay. We explained we had been miss-sold the hike as a pretty and easy ramble, and that we were underprepared for how hard it was. Asking them if they had done the hike before, they explained that they hadn’t, but they knew it was a hard one. One of them very kindly then offered us some Coca sweets, which are very helpful with regards to coping with altitude. Yes yes, coca is where cocaine comes from, but these sweets are sold everywhere and are totally legal and to be honest at this point in the hike if they had offered me pure cocaine I probably would have said yes please and thank you. As it was, we took some sweets from strangers in the middle of nowhere and no way of contacting any help should we get into trouble. Top tip. Top safety.
Anyway these guys were lovely and even said “we’ll hold the ferry for you guys!” Which I really hoped they were sincere about because at this point I doubted we would make it in time.
Energised by some of the strongest coca sweets we’ve had thus far (numbed the tongue) we trudged the last hour and a half to the end, keeping our two trail friends more or less in sight up ahead. When we saw signs to Puerto del sur we almost cried in relief. All that stood between us and the ferry back was the most insanely steep descent you’ve ever seen, including slopes, cobbles and steps aplenty. Legs shaking with the effort, I concentrated on not breaking a bloody ankle. Or my neck by taking a tumble down 400m of stone Incan steps.
When we made it to the port at 5 minutes to 4pm our new friends cheered, which honestly was the loveliest thing. “You made it! We knew you could do it! That last bit, crazy huh? You need to buy your ticket over there. Well done, you were only like 10 mins behind us!” Such lovely blokes. We got on the ferry knackered but elated, thinking that if we can survive a 16km hike at 4000m with little to no preparation, there’s hope for us yet.
Now you’d think that that would have been enough of an ordeal for one day, but then came the bus to La Paz.
The ferry got us back with just enough time to sprint (ha not really, speed walk at best) up the hill, huffing and puffing, to get our bags and get on the coach. We even had time to buy more water. All seemed well at first, beautiful sunset scenery.
After about an hour we reached the ferry crossing across a strait on the lake. We wrongly assumed a drive on ferry. Oh no, dear reader, this was not the case.
We were mostly bundled off the coach (some ancient abuelitas stayed on) but told to leave our luggage, which immediately felt sketchy. The driver then explained in rapid Spanish that the coach went across separately and pointed to the vessel it would travel on, and I shit you not when I say it resembled a few planks of wood. We were to go ahead and get on a different boat that would take us across first. Of course there was an extra 2bob (bolivianos shortens to bob which I love but now’s not the time for that) to buy a ticket (from an invisible person behind dark glass in a ticket office that looked shut) for a passenger ferry.
The whole experience thus far had been very disorientating, and then when faced with a small, over-crowded vessel bobbing about on dark water in a cold winter wind, my courage almost failed me. I don’t like dark water really, and this boat looked to be at capacity. I swallowed the rising panic attack and got aboard; there wasn’t room inside the covered part but honestly it was so cramped and claustrophobic in there that I was kind of glad of that. We stood on the back platform with some others and clung on for dear life as we bobbed and bounced our way across the strait in the dark. Apparently as I climbed aboard I said something along the lines of “Jesus Christ we’re all going to drown” but I have no recollection of saying this out loud. I certainly remember thinking it, however, and wondering how long I could tread water in temperatures of about 4°. I suspected not long.
We made it over to the other side in about 5 minutes and all bundled off into the cold night air to wait for our bus. I hoped I remembered what it looked like and tried to keep sight of some of the people who had also been on our bus. We waited perhaps half an hour to 45 minutes for our bus to appear. This system is honestly baffling and I can’t believe it hasn’t been updated. Even the locals looked confused. Once back on our bus, praying our luggage was still underneath us, we waited for some of the stragglers to board, all the while some of the abuelitas were yelling at the bus driver in Spanish “Come on driver, let’s go! Hurry up let’s go! Everyone is here what are you waiting for? Hurry up let’s go! VAMOS VAMOS VAMOS!” In the most impatient way imaginable, which was pretty rich seeing as they had stayed in the warm bus rather than make the apparently obligatory death-crossing. We weren’t, in fact, all aboard, and 2 Bolivian lads who clearly thought they had more time for a snack and a drink, finally made their way aboard.
Thereon-in the journey was fine. The full moon was spectacular although of course I couldn’t get any photos of it. Once in La Paz the bus made multiple and seemingly random stops to let off locals who knew exactly where they needed to be, including many of the gobby abuelas who shouted at the driver to stop when they wanted to get off. Harridans the lot of them.
We got off at the end, were mercifully reunited with our rucksacks, and got a swift taxi to our hotel amongst some of the most chaotic roads so far. After a blissfully hot shower, and assessing my sunburn from the hike (my ankles, oh god my ankles) we collapsed, exhausted into bed. Needless to say, I have no photographic evidence of this ordeal, focussed as I was on a) figuring out what the people were saying in Spanish and b) not drowning. Here’s a bonus picture of a sunburnt ankle for you.
