DAY 12 THURS. OCT. 11 COPACABANA - ISLA DEL SOL - COPACOBANA

This is the day of the hike to Puma Rock on Isla del Sol. We left our hotel a bit earlier in the day than most hikes and we were fewer in number: many stayed at the hotel for some R and R or because of illness. Lou stayed behind to catch up on some sleep and get some rest.

We had an hour and a half boat ride through some scenic and calm waters around many rocky islets. As we sailed, we were left mostly to our thoughts about what we were about to see. Our local guide, Juan Carlos had us all offer three drops of water from our water bottles to Pacha Mama for a safe journey and a good day's experience.

We arrived at a small village on Isla del Sol that is quiet and peaceful and a backpacker's heaven. The village was primitive in that it is untouched by the commercialism that often characterizes tourism. Several low buildings crowded a nice beach and featured a few hostels and bars. Campers set up some tents on the half-moon bay, the beach covered with fine powdered sand. Dogs and some pigs wandered with no fear and local women came and went, bent low to their daily tasks. I felt that I had arrived on some distant planet and became an unobtrusive observer of the slow pace of life on the island.

We climbed the trail at a steady and impressive pace. The clouds lifted and the sun came out glistening upon clear and calm lake water that sparkled more and more the higher we climbed. The tall, snow covered peaks of the Andes silently commanded out attention as they ranged perhaps 100 kilometers away. We passed the village school and were amazed as the kids began a long run up the trail ! We passed them later as they were returning, still keeping up a great pace and huffing as though they were jogging along a level track at sea level. Juan Carlos explained that the Aymara have many more red blood cells than we do to help with oxygen demand at high altitude. I silently wished for a transfusion of Aymara blood in my veins.

After a short distance, we encountered the local villagers preparing for a spring planting ceremony. The women were dressed in their red and white finery and the men were getting loaded on beer and other items. We said our polite good mornings and walked past, not wishing to intrude. Then Juan Carlos and Pablo called us back. Money exchanged hands, and the men favoured us with some great local music, rather basic but well played. The leader danced with a couple of our female hikers and we all clapped hands vigorously as the men played and drank. The local women gathered and seemed unimpressed. A couple of other locals, well lubricated, offered Juan Carlos a small taste of beer, which he accepted in order to maintain the air of friendliness. Pablo, not being Aymara, nor the rest of us, were offered any beer. We were told that, later that afternoon, a llama, also getting drunk, would be sacrificed to Pacha Mama in the hope of a good growing season. We did not see the llama.

We continued to climb. We passed many more locals working their small plots with hand tools as their ancestors had done. We encountered an elder and his wife who were guardians of a huaca stone on their land. The man didn't communicate much and Juan Carlos surmised that he was either ill or in a type of trance. We arrived at the sacred Puma Rock shortly after that and admired the panorama of Lake Titicaca and the far-off snow caps of the highest Andes. Juan Carlos told us it is customary to leave a stone at the foot of the Puma as an offering. I did so and thought of the llama waiting for its fate. We saw an Inca granary carved out of the cliff face ansd stopped for our lunch. Deb asked us if we'd ever imagined in our wildest dreams that we'd be sitting in an Inca sturcture eating lunch overlooking Lake Titicaca with the Andes in the background. We silently shook our heads no and contemplated the strange twists that life often gives us.

We hiked back, got in our boat for the long journey back to Copacabana. As we pulled away from the village, Pablo pointed out in the distance on the far shore of the bay all the villagers gathering for the ceremony wherein the llama would be sacrificed. It watched as long as I could, too far away to see any detail, but hoping the llama enjoyed his last day as much as I did.

We trudged back along the beach at Copacabana uphill to our hotel to reunite with our fellow travellers. The day ended with us gathered on a balcony overlooking our pleasant harbour, fishing boats contentedly bobbing in the gentle waters at anchor. With wine glasses in hand, we saluted an amazing sunset and thanked Pacha Mama for a wonderful day.